How to Leash a Thief

by Cat Clayton

  Officer Jackson followed them out and returned with the inhaler from my car. I took two puffs and felt the pressure in my lungs ease.

  Sitting at the outdoor patio table, I held the baggie of ice Officer Jackson had made me to my forehead. He stood like a sentry at my side. We were waiting on an ambulance. I’d told him I was fine, but he insisted and called, anyway.

  “Well, thanks to your dogged determination, we’ve got Welton in custody, and Becker has Schirmack already down at the station. I’m certain when we get the ballistic report on the slug taken from your shop it will prove to have come from a gun owned by either Schirmack or Welton,” Officer Jackson said. “I’ve called Daniel. He’s heading out to the Schirmack’s place to pick up Virgil.”

  “‘Dogged determination’ is that you being punny?” I asked. I managed a smile even though every square inch of my face hurt.

  “It doesn’t happen often, but yes,” he said.

  Poor Virgil was probably traumatized. I guessed either Daniel or I would keep him. Either way, he had a home.

  “Thanks,” I said. I quietly ran through the events of the past week in my head. What a whirlwind. It was finally over.

  Jackson raised an eyebrow. “You’re something else, Lamarr.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, officer,” I said.

  He glanced down at me, his dark eyes dancing despite his somber face. “Would you drop the officer? It’s Jackson.”

  Steely and Jackson sitting in a tree... Cuff sang as he perched on my lap.

  “Well, if I get to call you Jackson, then you have to call me Steely,” I said.

  “Lamarr will do,” he said.

  “Fine. That’ll do for now.” I told him about my discovery on the cast-iron skillet and admitted to taking it the night of Samson’s murder. “I feel terrible about it now. I really messed up,” I said. I hated to think I how I made their job of investigating harder.

  He shrugged. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now. But, if you’re right, that would be why we never found the murder weapon,” he said. “We’ll have it dusted for prints and see if we can pick up any traces of blood.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I spoke up.

  “What’re you thinking?”

  “How sorry I am for not answering the phone when you called earlier. I’d stopped in at the funeral and saw you’d left. I called you back not even ten minutes later, and it rolled straight into voicemail. Then, I found your texts and couldn’t locate Welton anywhere. I couldn’t get out here quick enough. I let you down. I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” I said, stroking Cuff’s soft fur. “I better call my Pop.”

  “I already did. He’s meeting us at the emergency room,” Jackson said.

  This dude is growing on me, Chiquita.

  Me, too.

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON, the doctors released me. They insisted that I schedule a visit with my regular physician in a week to check the nasty bruising on my forehead. Jackson had exchanged his bike for the Camaro and offered to drive Cuff and me home. Reluctantly, Pop agreed. I wondered if on some level he was slightly jealous that it was Jackson who’d come to my rescue and not him. I’d have to ensure him; he’d always be my number one guy.

  Pop, Gertie, and Daniel were waiting in the kitchen when we arrived at the house. I’d never been so glad to see the apple-green kitchen with red and white plaid curtains. A gorgeous sunflower bouquet from the Crazy Daisy adorned the center of the table. Peeking at the card, I noticed the flowers were from Jackson. I smiled as I read the message.

  Wishing you a speedy recovery. Jackson.

  I received copious amounts of hugs from everyone while Daniel squealed, “Ohmygodithoughtidneverseeyouagain!”

  Pop pulled me into his arms. With his chin resting on top of my head, he apologized a hundred times for allowing me to go to the house alone. I inhaled his “Pop” scent of leather, musk, and everything good in the world. I pulled back, his eyes brimmed with tears.

  “You’ll always be my hero, Pop. I love you.”

  Jackson leaned against the kitchen doorframe, observing the reunion scene. I offered him a smile, but he merely nodded in return. Ah, there’s the standoffish soldier I’d hoped disappeared. He’d been quiet on the drive over and I wondered what had gotten into him.

  A deep Woof! sounded at the back door. Seeing Virgil’s huge, moppish face in the window made my heart happy.

  Cuff popped up on his back feet, hopping, and rowed his front paws. Virgil, my big friend!

  I opened the back door. A jolly black and white muzzle greeted me with slobbery kisses.

  “Virgil, oh my goodness, you’re okay!” I said.

  The huge pup lunged, but Pop skirted around me, pushing him back, gently.

  “Down, Virgil. She’s recovering, and besides, you’re much bigger than she is!” Pop said. “The big guy’s stolen my heart. I’m thinking I’ll keep him, if that’s okay with you.”

  It made my heart happy to see Virgil, safe, and here with Pop. Samson was probably smiling down on us. “Sure, Pop. I think that’d be great.”

  Gertie moved the vase of sunflowers to the counter. “I don’t know about y’all, but I’m starving! I made ham and cheese sandwiches for an army!” She retrieved a platter from the refrigerator. Her ruffled blue and white pinstriped apron said, “Let’s eat!” in vinyl red letters. She carried the heaping platter, bigger than her, to the oak table and set it down in the center.

  Jackson cleared his throat from the doorway. “Well, this is my cue to leave. Ms. Lamarr, I’m glad you’re home safe,” he said and shoved away from the doorframe.

  Ms. Lamarr? Was that polite speak for Pop’s sake? “I thought we agreed to drop the Ms.” I felt my cheeks flush. I wanted him to stay, but after the awkward reaction he had after kissing me, I guessed leaving might be best. Maybe he needed some time to process what had transpired last night and today.

  “Well, thank you for bringing me home,” I said.

  “And saving my daughter’s life. Now, I insist you stay for lunch,” Pop said.

  “Yes, stay. Gertie said she made enough,” I said, happy Pop insisted.

  Jackson crossed his arms. “I appreciate the offer, but—”

  Gertie waddled across the kitchen and tugged him over to the table. “But nothing, Bolivar Jackson. You saved my granddaughter’s hide; that calls for two sandwiches, a beer, and a lifetime of Gertie smooches.” She pulled out his chair. “I understand you’re a military man, so you know what a direct order is. Sit.”

  He obeyed. “Yes, ma’am.” Giving me a polite nod, he pulled his chair up to the table. Gertie planted a big kiss on top of his head.

  I sat in the chair across the table from him. Bolivar? A unique first name for a unique human being. I’d have to ask him the story behind his name when we got better acquainted, if that ever happened. The way things were going now, that could be forever or never.

  During lunch, the conversation was light and friendly. We mostly discussed the goings on at the shop and how the three of us would make a terrific team. Daniel would continue doing most of the grooming, I’d do the office running and do the bookkeeping, and Gertie would keep the place spiffy. Daniel mentioned Samson and thought it’d be nice to contact the paper about writing a piece on how he was a good person and how he helped us out at the shop. We all agreed it would be a great way to pay tribute to him. I wondered if the authorities would ever find out if he had any family elsewhere. Maybe someone from his past would recognize his photo and come forward.

  Gertie got up from the table and wobbled to the counter. “Who wants pecan pie? I bought Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla ice cream, too.”

  The thought of pie a la mode made my mouth water.

  Jackson covered his sandwich with a napkin and pushed his chair back. “Would you like some help, Mrs. Lamarr?”

  Gertie placed her hands on her hips, giving Jackson her best sm
ile. “Does a bear shit in the woods? Get that handsome butt over here!”

  Pop gave Gertie a disapproving look. “Language please, Mother.”

  Jackson glanced at me with dark, mysterious eyes and he sauntered toward the counter to assist Gertie. As they worked side by side, I noticed the corner of his mouth pull into an easy smile, dimples and all. Gertie had that effect on people. His transformation from tense to relaxed, made my insides turn somersaults.

  Next to me, Daniel leaned over and nudged my arm. “Did someone turn up the heat?” He snatched a spare paper plate from the stack and fanned his face. He whispered, “I don’t know why you two are dancing around. It’s obvious y’all both have the hots for each other.”

  “Daniel,” Pop interrupted. “Remember, that’s my daughter you’re referring to.”

  “My most sincere apologies, Mr. Lamarr,” Daniel said, hiding his smile behind his Dixie makeshift fan. “So how about our Mamma Mia! movie night soon?”

  I laughed at him changing the subject so quickly. “Sounds good!”

  I glanced around the table, family and friends. Things were good. But poor Pop. Between Gertie’s foul mouth, Daniel’s raging hormones, and my inability to keep myself out of trouble, the man didn’t stand a chance.

  Chapter 24

  Over the next few days, I stayed home to rest and recover, while Daniel and Gertie ran the shop. Business had picked up. Even folks from neighboring towns were bringing in their dogs to Scrubadub. Since the local paper and those in the surrounding areas classified me as a heroine, it seemed everyone wanted to have their dogs groomed by us.

  We’d heard the Schirmack’s daughter who’d arrived for her mother’s funeral had stayed in town to sort out her parent’s affairs. In the meantime, she was reopening Baker’s Bliss and running the bakery herself. I’d try not to hold a grudge against her for the rotten things her parents and cousin had done. The Peach Perfection pie she’d dropped off yesterday spoke volumes of regret. And I couldn’t blame the pie. It wasn’t guilty of anything besides being scrum-dilly-ocious.

  On the last day of my recovery, the phone rang. Pop handed the phone to me.

  “This is Steely.”

  “Good morning, it’s Chief Becker. How are you feeling?”

  Miracles do happen. “I’m wonderful. Thank you for asking,” I said.

  “On behalf of the city, the mayor, and the police department, I’d like to thank you for your efforts and help with the bank-robbing and murder cases,” he said.

  Thank you? I almost couldn’t believe my ears. “It was nothing. Really.”

  “Well, as much as I don’t approve of your interference, the murders and bank robbery may have gone unsolved without your... help. And so, thank you. I’ll let you get back to resting. Please give my regards to your father.”

  “Thank you, Chief Becker. Have a nice day.” After we hung up, I told Pop what he’d said.

  “I stopped in and spoke with Becker. I know it’s not my place anymore, but I felt things weren’t handled well, and so despite his annoyance, I voiced my opinions,” Pop said.

  “Annoyed is probably an understatement,” I said. “It had to be difficult to hear those things from the former chief.”

  Pop shrugged. “All I care about is that you are safe.” He tweaked my cheek. “And I’ll tell you this. I found out the black Buick was in fact registered to William Clemons, who is Flora’s brother, and Seth Welton’s stepfather. Welton had used his step-father’s name frequently as an alias. The real William Clemons sold the car to the Schirmacks years before, but they never changed the title over.”

  He’d gotten a lot of information out of the chief. “What about Samson? Was he at the wrong place at the wrong time like I suspected?”

  Pop nodded. “It was sheer desperation to save their own hides and business that led them to cook up the crazy plan to rob the bank. Samson, the poor guy, presented an obstacle and so they removed him. Flora’s death was an accident. She tripped and fell in the pasture, hitting her head on a large rock. It was Seth Welton’s idea to use his aunt’s body to scare you off.”

  “I hate that Samson lost his life over this. He did nothing to those people. It makes me so angry,” I said. I glanced out the back window at Virgil sunning with Cuff on the back patio. I smiled.

  I missed you, big friend. I heard Cuff’s thought to Virgil.

  “Well, there’s one good thing that came out of all this,” Pop said.

  “What’s that?”

  “The mayor has reinstated the Citizens on the Watch program, and begrudgingly, the chief agreed his department would work more closely with the group to ensure the safety of Buckleville. And I’ve agreed to help the group more, which may turn into a part-time paid position. They’re even discussing providing training for the members.”

  “Pop, that’s great!” I said.

  Although I had a feeling he may get more involved, so I didn’t, or so he could keep a watchful eye on me.

  During the week of my recovery, over Pop’s many protests, I’d decided to move into Gertie’s apartment above the shop. Cuff and I needed our own space. Not to mention, the safety and well-being of my beloved boots and wardrobe depended on it. With Gertie and Daniel’s help, we spruced up the place and stocked the refrigerator.

  I PACKED THE LAST OF our things and moseyed into the kitchen. Pop and Gertie were having coffee with Mr. Peters. With her intimidating double-barrel, Patrice stood like a sentry near the backdoor.

  Virgil, Cuff, and Maisy lay sprawled on a sunny patch on the floor, side by side by side.

  Ah, this is the life, Chiquita.

  I smiled at the dog trio.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Peters,” I said. I recalled the last time we’d spoken in the hardware store. Embarrassment and shame weighed heavy on my shoulders. I tried pinning the entire mess on him. The murders, the bank robbery. Poor guy.

  “Mr. Peters, I want to apologize for the other day, for my disrespect. I’m so sorry for everything. I hope you can forgive me.”

  He refused to make eye contact, but that was his way. “That’s all right, Ms. Steely. Don’t you worry yourself over it.” He lifted his coffee cup and took a sip. “I told Samson to turn those people over to the authorities the first time he caught them sneaking around the bank. But he said they scared him. He said they threatened to kill him if he told anyone. We argued about it several times.”

  My heart poured out to him.

  “After they killed Samson, they threatened me too. Said if I told the cops what I knew, they’d burn my store down with me in it,” Mr. Peters said.

  “I’m so sorry. I wished you would’ve told someone,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Well, I’m glad it’s all out in the open now.”

  “Peters and I are joining a senior citizen’s bowling team. We gotta do something to keep him away from the boats over in Louisiana,” Gertie said.

  Mr. Peters smiled at his cup. “That’s right.”

  “Well, bowling sounds fun,” I said.

  “I hear it might involve some betting too,” she said, her eyes twinkling. It reminded me of her Gamblin’ Gert poker days, back when I was young.

  Pop shook his head. “I didn’t hear that,” he said.

  “Oh, stop being such a fuddle-dud. Steely, you wanna cup of coffee before you go?” Gertie asked, as she struggled with what looked like a ball of yarn.

  “No, thanks,” I said. “Are you taking up knitting, too?”

  She winked. “I’m thinking about it.” She worked at the tangled mess she’d created.

  Pop shook his head at her and grinned. “You all packed?” he asked me.

  I nodded. “Wanted to say goodbye.” I picked up Cuff’s food dish and dropped it in my paisley bag slung across my shoulder.

  Do we have to leave so soon, Chiquita?

  “You realize this isn’t necessary, right?” Pop said, his forehead creased. “There is plenty of room for all of us here.”

  “I need to do this,
Pop,” I said. “Cuff and I will be fine.” And it was true. I’m an adult. I operated and owned a business, and I needed to move out and be on my own.

  “Where’s your pistol?” Pop asked me, his arms crossing in front of his chest. “And please don’t tell me it’s in your car locked in the glove compartment.”

  I patted my bag. “Right here,” I said. “I’ll work on my issues.”

  Pop looked satisfied, so I left out the part where I planned on stashing the Glock in a box on the top shelf of a closet. I wasn’t ready to make nice with it yet. After losing Mama to a gunshot wound, I didn’t know if I’d ever touch it again.

  “Cuff, let’s get going.”

  Oh, man! I’m gonna miss this big guy! Cuff gave me a pitiful face, his amber eyes downcast.

  “C’mon. We’ll see him tomorrow at the shop. Gertie will bring him when she comes to work. Right, Gertie?” I turned toward her.

  “If you’ll stop calling me Gertie,” she said. She tossed the mess of yarn to the center of the table. “Ah, shizzle sticks, I give up. And yes, I’ll bring Virgil to work.”

  “Shizzle sticks?” I asked, chuckling.

  Gertie rolled her eyes and pointed to the counter. “Your father made me a swear jar. I have to pay a quarter for each curse word. I told him my social security check is piddles, but he didn’t care. He says you have to make one for the shop too.” She rapped on the table next to Mr. Peters. “You think bowlers use the swears?”

  Mr. Peters shrugged. “I guess we’ll see, but I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  Gertie grinned. “That’s what I’m talking about. What happens at Buckleville Lanes, stays at Buckleville Lanes.”

  Goodbye, my friends. See you tomorrow. Cuff rose, stretched into a downward dog position and strutted over to me. I am ready, Chiquita.

  Pop stood and pulled me into a warm embrace. “One thing before you head out,” he said. “Just so you know, I finally heard from the investigator in Houston. He’s got a lead from the postmark on those pictures. I don’t want you to worry about it, but I wanted you to know in case I head out of town soon.”